Missed opportunities
by relaxovision
Summary: Desperate people have been known to render desperate deeds. Sometimes all it takes is one moment to turn all that's bad around and make it good. Sometimes this moment never comes.
1. Santana

**A/N:** This story can be read as a stand alone fic or as a prequel to **A New Morning**.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 01: Santana<strong>

Shelby Corcoran loves her job.

When she was thirteen her parents first asked her to babysit her little cousin Mike. He was only four years old and quite an endearing little pain in the ass sometimes. He'd cry over literally everything so young Shelby was anything but thrilled to be trusted with this responsibility.

_He's already eaten._

_He needs to sleep at eight._

_We'll be home around midnight._

_Call us if you need anything._

And then the two of them were alone.

Right as the door closed Shelby saw Mike's lower lip start to tremble so she picked him up and did the one thing she could think of that moment: she started to sing. Little Mike calmed down immediately and it was then that Shelby first understood her gift.

She was good with kids.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry."<p>

He was the only one who ever uttered those words and yet they barely reached Santana. She doesn't remember what the officer looked like or what his name was and she doesn't remember anything else he said or if he tried to touch her shoulder. She clearly does remember, though, how she went deaf for a couple of seconds and how her vision blurred; she remembers how the nightmare of a life turned into hell as her last anchor to reality was violently being ripped from her chest and splattered right into her dad's grave. Now she feels like everything that ever made sense in this world lies buried six feet deep beneath bitter grains of soil and mud and all the disdain the heavens have rained upon her.

Humans are frail and destiny has screwed her over.

There's no one left to even look her in the eye.

* * *

><p>When Shelby first told her parents she wanted to be a teacher they didn't take her seriously. Later they tried to talk her out of it. "<em>Music?<em>" they sneered.

Yes, music.

It seemed like the obvious choice and up until now she's never regretted it once, not because of the low pay, not because of the low status, and not because of this constant nagging voice in her head that told her she wasn't doing enough for the kids.

On days like this, though, when she sits at her desk long after her last class is over and goes through exam after exam, she finds it tough to be fair to everyone and she feels her enthusiasm slowly slip away. The red marker in her hand is just as great of a responsibility as watching after little Mike and Shelby takes it seriously, even though she's tired, even though not all of her students seem to pay her the same respect. But they're kids, she reminds herself. And it's their prerogative to be immature.

She flips over the page in front of her and her eyes catch the name 'David Palmer'. David is a good boy, always respectful towards her, kind at heart and he has a really nice voice, too. Unfortunately his grades don't match that image and Shelby overheard a conversation in the teacher's lounge that he's probably going to have to repeat the year.

As she goes through his exam it becomes terribly clear that he's going to fail. She shakes her head and leans back for a second. If he fails David will be one step closer to summer school. Maybe it will even be the last nail in the coffin.

* * *

><p>One<p>

Step

Two

Step

Three

Step

Four

Every breath seems like a burden and after hiding at home alone for two weeks straight it's almost impossible to walk down these hallways again. Every motion is an act, a practiced routine and there's nothing sincere about anything she does. Santana doesn't do anything but to breathe and let her body do the rest.

She opens her locker and pulls out her biology book.

She places the book in her bag.

She swings the bag over her shoulder and closes the locker.

One

Step

Two

Step

Three

Step

Four

She knows it can't go on like this. Her dreams have returned.

Ever since she's been little she's been haunted by this vision, although the images are never clear. She's somehow there and then she's somehow not, like she quit existing but not entirely. She can't see everything but she knows a lot; she's not a ghost and yet not real, either. As if something important had been ripped off of her and now she's always a little off, like a second behind things or in some alternative dimension that's starting to overlap with the reality she used to know.

It used to be just that – a dream. She'd close her eyes and fall asleep terrified, but the moment she woke up everything was the way it was supposed to be.

But then one day it became more than that – a dream. She can't remember the exact moment it happened. Maybe it was something that changed gradually, like shadows sneaking away from the ever wandering sunlight throughout the day until they get to grow dark and threatening at dusk and finally cover everything and come to life at night, telling Santana it's time to close her eyes again and disappear.

It wasn't the first slushie that hit her. It wasn't the first insult directed at her. It wasn't the first hint of mockery or the first time she realized the bullying wouldn't just stop. It wasn't the first time she was thrown into a dumpster.

Dyke.

Loser.

Spaz.

Retard.

It was somewhere in between everything that happened then and the moment she got the news that her dad died. Somewhere in between everything else she had missed the sunset and was now faced with eternal darkness.

She knows it can't go on like this. And she's willing to try once more. She'll gather all her strength and she'll try to escape, but she can't do it alone. She's waited for too long and the shadows have consumed almost all her willpower.

So she finds herself standing in front of a classroom door, long after her last class and she's clenching her fists and sweating. She won't be demanding, she won't be annoying, she'll ask, just this one time before it's all over and there'll be nothing left but to give up.

* * *

><p>Flipping through David's exam once more Shelby is uncertain what to do. If she lets him fail it'll have consequences for the poor boy, consequences she doesn't like to burden onto one of her kids. It's actually quite close; if she chooses to overlook this one mistake he'll pass. But that wouldn't be fair towards everyone else.<p>

She wipes at her brows and breathes out slowly when there's a soft knock on the door. Shooting a quick glance at the clock she realizes she's actually supposed to pick up her sister's son from soccer practice in half an hour and she's nowhere near finished going through the exams. In her hurry she picks up the red marker again and writes "D" on top of the page before shouting "Come in!".

The door opens and Santana Lopez takes a step in but keeps the door handle in her hand.

"Could I speak with you for a second?" she asks and her eyes shift nervously. Shelby recognizes her immediately. She's one of the kids who always sit in the back row, never speak up but always do their homework. She actually likes Santana a lot, even though she doesn't quite understand why a gorgeous girl like her would be so shy and seem so insecure about herself.

She takes another look at the clock. _Damn._

"I'm sorry, Santana. I'm really busy right now."

There's a brief flicker in the girl's eyes that Shelby recognizes as disappointment. She hates to disappoint her students, but right now her hands are tied. "These papers won't grade themselves." she mumbles more to herself than to the girl standing in the doorframe. On days like this she feels a hundred years old, if just for the wrinkles she can feel growing on her forehead. She lifts her hand and rubs her skin there lightly, massaging the offending marks away.

Shelby loves her job, but in situations like this she feels so worn out. Teaching means giving and sometimes there's not a lot left to give.

She's worried that her words might have come out a little too harsh, though, so she attempts to make an offer. Maybe she could talk to her after school tomorrow. Maybe she could call her if it's urgent. Maybe she could somehow make time. She's a teacher and there should always be time for a student who asks for help.

But when she looks up again she only sees the door being closed and hears a tiny, almost whispered

"Ok."


	2. Quinn and Nishi

**Quinn**

At school she's a winner.

You know that one girl everyone looks up to? The one girl whom you really want to hate, but can't because she doesn't seem to have any flaws? The girl whose smile makes you sick, because it's so sweet and so fake, but you can't call her out on that, because behind that smile there's a lion waiting to rip you apart and everyone knows it and everyone fears it? That's why they keep quiet and it's why you don't say a word.

That girl is Quinn.

Quinn has her pack of cheerleaders she leads into one victory after another. She's a straight A student and has, of course, a perfect family. Her dad and mom are as blonde as she is and they're equally pretty and shallow. Girls want to be her and guys want to have her. They bathe in her glory as they swarm around her like bees around their queen, knowing that even though it's not their turn right now, they'll eventually have their shot.

Because Quinn has everything and just being around her seems to make everyone a better person - or more popular, but in high school that's really the same thing. Who wants to be good when it doesn't get you anywhere? Who wants to have principles and high moral standards or a kind heart when your only reward is that you're being shoved into the lockers? At school, investing that kind of energy is a sign of weakness.

So Quinn invests her energy into putting everyone else in their place instead.

You know how you sometimes suspect that no one can be this perfect? That hidden way deep in the shadows of that girl's existence there's a life threatening flaw that might come out to unleash the beast within her once someone discovers that it's there?

Quinn knows.

And she condemns herself for every imperfection. At school she's a winner; at home alone she's nobody. At school she's a bitch; at home she's a failure. At school she has her loyal minions, but at home there's only her parents telling her what a disappointment she is. Quinn knows she's got to work harder to honor her family's name. Coming in second equals a loss, so she makes sure to be on top at all costs. She's sacrificed the possibility of having friends, of being loved, of having a healthy relationship to anyone. She's sacrificed her teenage heart to her robotic shell.

And still, she's never good enough.

She works out after school, because it's an excuse not to go home. Every second spent on her couch or in bed may make her seem lazy. She dreads doing homework assignments, because every sentence she writes holds infinite possibilities to make mistakes.

So she runs and she does push-ups and sit-ups and she goes to ballet lessons and she strains every single muscle in her body until it aches too much to continue and she's too afraid to stop. Because once she does and her body feels slack and tired, all that's left is her mind working frenzy in her weak shell.

Quinn comes home late every day and she eats dinner and if she's lucky her dad's too drunk to participate and her mom doesn't cry or yell. They never talk, not really. Every conversation is but an endless list of accusations directed at her.

_You're sloppy._

_You put on weight._

_I talked to your teacher and he said you seem tired at school. _

_You know what I think about inattentiveness. _

_I expect you to be focused. Understood?_

"Of course, dad."

She spends most her nights awake. In the darkness everything is quiet and sometimes she imagines that everyone but her is dead. The apocalypse has come and passed and she's the only survivor. At night when not a single sun ray intrudes the depth of her gloom her mind wanders those dangerous paths freely. She rids herself of the pressure each day brings and she wraps herself into the comfort of loneliness. It's the end of all metaphors.

During the day brightness threatens to expose her true nature every second. One step into the wrong direction and she'll slip and fall and never get back up again, because her minions are not all that loyal. Quinn knows very well that they're only waiting for their chance to climb on her back and thrive to become the monsters they see in her right now. She's a teacher and a fiend and an obstacle alike.

During the day she's dead.

At night that thought becomes more bearable.

* * *

><p>Sometimes she sees the way things could have been.<p>

In an alternative dimension which allowed her to be average she'd only have a few friends, but those would be real and they'd share her joy and pain and never stab her in the back.

Her parents would love her for who she really is and not for what they want her to be.

Maybe she'd even have the confidence to stand up against the bullies who surround her now and inflict harm on innocent kids. She'd protect them instead of turning her head and closing her eyes. They always make it look as if she'd command them to slushie random students or have them pushed into lockers. Truth is, though, that they do all that on their own account and Quinn just doesn't stop them.

She knows it's wrong.

But when no one truly loves you, respect is all you have. It's your shield and Quinn clings to her protection tightly. She cares that it's all a façade; she does. But what's she supposed to do?

Sometimes she sees things the way they could have been.

As she walks down the hallway now her eyes scan her surroundings. The lion within her never rests at school, because her enemies don't, either.

She has her notebook tucked under her arm and her chin is up high as always.

No one cares if your back is bleeding. All that matters is appearance.

A girl comes into her line of vision and Quinn doesn't even know why she notices her. She's her direct opposite: small, brunette, without a sense of fashion. She's not even a potential minion, just another nobody.

And Quinn feels herself blush.

She stops and watches as the girl, whose name she doesn't know, searches through her locker. She makes out a little rainbow flag and rolls her eyes. She won't make it at this school - that much is clear. She picks up two books and stuffs them into her bag and bites her lower lip as another book slips from the inside of her locker and lands with a dull thud on the floor.

And Quinn just stands there and watches. She sees the girl's lower lip quiver and it's so absurd, because nothing happened to cause this. But she collects herself and pulls herself together and picks up the book and puts it back into her locker. When she finally turns around Quinn sees the slushie stain on her sweater.

It shouldn't surprise her, and yet she feels upset.

In another life she'd walk up to the girl and lend her an extra shirt she's packed this morning. She'd carry her books and she'd allow herself to find that argyle sweater she's wearing cute. She'd smile and ask her for her number and hopefully go out and maybe even get to kiss that quiver in her lip away.

Quinn watches as two football jocks come seemingly out of nowhere and push the girl into the lockers before high-fiving each other.

"Loser!" one of them sneers.

In another life Quinn would help her up and wrap her arms around her and promise her it'd be ok. She'd tell those brutal giants off and she wouldn't care about her reputation. She'd take that girl's hand and lock both of them in a bathroom stall and wipe her tears away.

But not even this alternative universe she makes up at night can offer her any of this. At night everyone is dead.

And during the day she doesn't live.

So she turns her head and walks to her class and doesn't look back once.

* * *

><p><strong>Nishi<strong>

"Nishi, can I talk to you for a second?"

He grits his teeth and stares blankly as he follows Mrs. Johnson into her office. He knows what's coming and he knows what to do about it. The next fifteen minutes or so he will have to sit, hang his head and pretend to be sorry for something he never even did.

It's a short walk of shame and he counts his steps.

One

Two

Three

He clenches his fists.

Four

Five

Six

There's Marcus standing across the hallway, openly staring.

Seven

Eight

Nishi can see the grin he tries to hide.

Nine

Ten

Breathe.

They arrive at step thirty-six.

The carpet in Mrs. Johnson's office is made of blue felt and Nishi lifts his feet carefully for each step. He hates felt and he hates the sound of feet shuffling over it. He licks his teeth to counter the irritation the mere thought of that causes on his gum.

"I'm really disappointed in you."

Of course she is. Everyone is. Always.

Mrs. Johnson is one of the good guys. Nishi can hear it in her voice. She cares. She tries. But in the end, she's just another adult, just someone who'll never understand, even if he found the words to explain. He tried, though.

"I didn't do it."

"They keep provoking me."

"Please."

But he could hear his words echoing back at him without impact on his counterpart. The principal's mind is a giant mirror and its glass is unbreakable. Nothing will ever get through to her. She's got her opinions and facts won't change that. He's gotten used to it by now.

"I've given you so many chances, because I believe in you. Why don't you just tell me what's wrong? Maybe I can help?"

"Yea, help." Nishi thinks as he lowers his head once more, making sure not to look at the person sitting opposite of him. "Like when you called my parents and had me grounded. Or like when you forced me into detention. Or like every time you don't punish _them_, just me."

"Nishi, look at me."

He has to force himself to lift his chin. It seems too proud, too confident; it seems too much as if they were on eye level, which he knows is not the case.

She looks genuinely worried and he almost breaks. But what would crying really change? He'd just be the kid that broke down in her office. She could pat her own back for causing such a great breakthrough, tell herself she's done a good job. Because being a teenager is so hard and no one has more compassion for this fact than Mrs. Johnson. So if she could make cruel Nishi break down and seem weak it'd be such a success. It'd be her confirmation that she's a good person and most of all, that she's right.

She's right to think that every kid is good at heart.

She's right to think that we all get to choose what's happening to us.

She's right to think that there is no such thing as bullying at her school.

Her worldview would never shatter.

But Nishi refuses to give her that. As long as he's the insect on the dinner table she won't have that satisfaction. He's not longing to change anything anymore, because he knows that's impossible; he can, however, be a constant nagging reminder of her imperfection.

She tilts her head and sighs. "I just don't know what to do with you anymore."

For a split second he feels something reminiscent of life. Like he'd found a way to take back a tiny part of what's rightfully his.

If nothing else, Nishi has that kind of power.


End file.
